


Shop Brat Life- The Spill

by Princesszellie



Series: The Shop Brat Life [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Mechanic!AU Carshop!AU Teen!ChuckAU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:28:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princesszellie/pseuds/Princesszellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck gets to take Daddy's new toy for a spin OR- Mistakes were made. BIG ones. The key is not to get caught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shop Brat Life- The Spill

Chuck walked a slow, sultry circle around the car. He licked his lips in a particularly feral way and whistled softly. It was a sweet ride. Candy apple sex red, chrome cut down tires, loaded sound system and miles of soft premium leather. 

Herc watched his son warily, witnessing all of his little fantasies come true. It was adorable and disturbing at the same time. Chuck looked up from caressing the hood, “It’s really yours?”

“Yep.” Dad answered with a small smirk. Chuck hadn’t been this jealous of his dad’s car in a long time. The old man was just too old to have a hot ride like this. This sex machine was a chick magnet, not a ride for his dad. Life just wasn’t fair. 

Against his better judgment Herc dangled the keys. “You can take it home. I mean straight home Charles.” 

Chuck’s eyes got huge and he practically clawed the keys from Herc’s hand. Oh this might be a bad idea. 

“Thanks Dad!” Chuck was practically drooling in his excitement to take that beast out. He was going to give it the run it deserved, he was going to make that baby purr like a kitten, he was…totally zoning out on his father’s lecture. 

Herc gave up and stopped talking until Charlie came back down to planet Earth. “Give me your keys, get your stuff….” The blank look continued, “Out of Striker…go….” He gave him a little shove. 

Chuck bolted for Striker and grabbed his back pack and the other essentials, including his favorite Coheed and Cambria CD. “Be good.” He whispered to Striker giving the door a little pat as he shut it. There was a brief pang of guilt over abandoning her to Dad for a chance to drive the hot little number, but he knew she would forgive him. She always did. 

He sauntered over to the Cherry Bomb, making sure his hips swayed a little to match the swagger of his sunglasses and now backwards cap. The car had attracted quite a crowd from the service bays and he had no trouble flaunting that he had access and the techs, well the techs never would. Especially not those damn Beckets. 

Chuck tossed Herc his 100 lbs of key chains and took a swing off his 30 oz Dr. Pepper. Herc gave him the eye and tried to stuff the jingling mess in his pocket but gave up realizing that it wasn’t humanly possible. “Please be careful, don’t do any of your crazy shit.” It had to be said out loud to be binding, well that was his theory anyway.  
His son smiled oh so innocently, but he still felt his blood run cold. “I mean it Charlie. I’m just gonna grab my stuff from my office and I’ll be right behind you…” It was an idle threat. 

“I won’t Dad…no worries.” He may have literally crossed his fingers behind his back as he opened the door and tossed his bag into the passenger seat. “I’ll treat her like my own baby.”

“That is exactly what I am afraid of….” Herc muttered to himself looking heavenward.

“Take care of Striker for me.”

Herc sighed, “Sweetheart, I’ve been driving that car as long as you’ve been alive….”

Chuck conveniently ignored that whole sentence as he plopped in to all that soft leather and sighed happily, fumbling the giant cup into the console. 

“Don’t spill that.” Raleigh Becket said with a wink.

Chuck skewered the mouthy mechanic with one of his most withering teenage glares over the top of his sunglasses as he slammed the door shut to block out any further comments from the peanut gallery. They were Dad’s problem now. Now there was only the blood pumping roar of a brand new 3.1L,V6 , 175 horsepower engine. 

Herc put a hand to his forehead as Chuck took off with his car and he was left the family junker. Raleigh leaned in towards Herc and said conspiratorially “If he lives to be eighteen I owe you a hundred bucks.” 

“Oh come on!” Herc groaned. Mostly because it really was an almost guaranteed payout. 

 

Chuck popped his CD in the radio and cranked that sucker in the first of many tests he was going to put this new toy through. It passed with flying colors and as soon as he hit the back roads it was no holds barred- literally.

He rolled down all the windows, turned the volume up another twenty decibels and pushed the pedal to the floor- also literally. The road was nice and curvy allowing him to test the steering and handling, which was fantastic thanks very much. After getting a perfectly sweet drift around a particularly tricky spot (not for Striker of course they were drift masters) he let out an excited whoop and threw his arms out to enjoy the two seconds of zero gravity and….and….

Out of the corner of his eye he saw it, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The lid went flying off the flimsy fast food cup and… and the cup took killer air…and…and…in about five point five seconds he and the car were wearing 30 oz of Dr. Pepper. 

It was like an ice cold nightmare narrated by Raleigh fucking Becket as before his eyes the butterscotch interior soaked in all that brown sugary goodness…all that leather got its first taste of filth. Chuck might have screamed, he might have cursed, he must have had some sort of reaction or he just blacked out. He was in deep, deep deep….Oh god...Death would be too good for him now. Oh Christ he was beyond screwed. Dad said he was right behind him… and his head snapped up to check the rearview mirror. Thank god, no Striker in sight…yet. 

Somehow, by powers he didn’t know he possessed he was still headed home and driving. It was a weird euphoric state he had entered. He might have laughed the kind of laugh condemned prisoners on death row made while being led to the gas chamber. But that was short lived and as he took another curve at way too fast and he felt cola slosh against his foot, he knew he had only one choice here. 

Chuck dived for his phone and called his mother.

She answered instantly starting right off with, “Chuck! You’re not supposed to talk on the phone and drive!”

Yeah well hello to you too. Chuck launched into a stream of incoherent babble. His hysteria was reducing his word skills to mush. His mother wasn’t getting the picture…this was spiraling out of control.  
“Mom! Shut up and listen to me!” he finally screamed into the phone over the noise of the radio and the open windows, “I spilled soda in Dad’s new car! He’s somewhere behind me.”

Yeah, that got her attention. God, finally. “Okay, hurry up then. I’ll have all the stuff waiting when you get in the drive way.” Angela tired very hard to keep the laugh out of her voice. 

“Okay, I’m almost to the cross roads.” Chuck hung up and gunned it again in his desperation to put as much distance between him and his father as possible. Luckily it was well known that Herc could never just ‘run in quick’ to his office; if there was a god hopefully he stalled Herc with some sort of calamity or task. But with Chuck’s luck, that wasn’t likely the case. 

He skidded around the corner of their road, totally ignoring the stop sign, and flew down the hill landing the car in the drive way in squeal of tires and a wash of gravel. His mom was standing on the front porch, towels and cans of carpet cleaner in hand. Chuck flung the door open and tossed the treacherous cup out into the yard and leaped out after it. 

He and Angela were a team; there were NASCAR pit crews that didn’t work this fast or well. As luck would have it someone had outfitted the car with a nice rubber mats so a majority of soda could just be dumped out. The interior had been treated with some sort of stain resistor so the floor cleaned up with just a few towels. In minutes no one would ever guess Chuck had been swimming in Dr. Pepper for five miles. 

Angela wiped down the seats one more time to ensure there would be no stickiness. “I think we’re good Charlie.”

Chuck leaned against the hood, still breathing hard. “Thanks Mom.” Pause. “You’re not gonna tell him are you?” He was worried. Now that the crisis was over he just realized he had just given his mother the power to damn him. At the very least she would have leverage over him until the first time Dad spilled something in there himself. 

“You better go change your pants, you’re soaked.” Vague. Too fucking vague. Chuck sighed heavily and sloshed off. Angela gathered up the evidence of the crime scene clean up while her son disappeared inside.

When Herc got home twenty minutes later he found nothing amiss. “How was it? Did you like it?” he asked a strangely docile Chuck.

“Yeah, it’s a sweet ride. Too nice for you old man.” He smirked, “You enjoy Striker?” 

As Herc rattled off the laundry list of what he thought was wrong with his son’s aging car Chuck shot his Mom an anxious, questioning look. Angela winked and smiled. Secret safe. Herc would never know.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear god. It's all true. I really did spill soda all over my Dad's brand new car in the first 48 hrs he had it. That is why I was never allowed nice things....and got BOTH of the family castoffs. (Not that I didn't love them both) To this day my father has NO idea I baptized his car with Dr. Pepper. My mom apparently has never told him, and I am too much of a coward to bring it up with her again....just in case she has forgotten and I accidentally remind her of that little bit of blackmail material. Incidentally that car, which appears as itself, is still a hot looker even at 10 years old.


End file.
